Conceited Passion
by TheSummerNightingale
Summary: Cormac hoped she could see that she was more than an accomplishment to him. That instead, she was a privilege who was steadily replacing everything he'd ever known about passion. (For what passion had he ever known before but himself?)


**Written for Herbology, Assignment 10:** _Write about someone who is very passionate and who is 'conquered' or calmed by another character._

 **Written for the Read Between the Lines Challenge** \- _Romance: Hermione/Cormac_

* * *

Before, she had always been just Hermione Granger, the smart girl with bushy brown hair who was Harry Potter's best friend. She was a know-it-all, she had been Viktor Krum's date to the Yule Ball, she was a teacher's pet, and she'd once asked him to wear this ridiculous looking badge with the letters "S.P.E.W." on it, and that was all Cormac McLaggen had ever thought to know about her.

After, he never thought about any of those things. There were so many other parts of her that he wanted to cherish instead, like the way she'd put up with his compliments to himself only to reprimand him as soon as he was finished. The way her entire face had lit up the first time he had greeted her with a compliment for _her_ , not himself.

Before, he hadn't known a passion other than the one he'd harbored for himself.

After, he knew. After, passion was what he breathed in every second of his day. After, she was the only passion he needed.

* * *

 _Conceit_

* * *

It burned to look at her. Literally. Rare rays of sunlight shone down on her body and illuminated her mane of unruly brown curls like a fiery halo above her head - fiery like her narrowed eyes but rather than angelic, merciless like the fist she held by her side.

Cormac did his best to adjust his eyes to the fire of a girl in front of him, but it was such a strain on his eyes that he thought it would be better to simply avert them as she spoke.

"-and you had _no right_ to accuse Ron of cheating! He got the last shot. You didn't. There's not much to argue about that, McLaggen!"

"I'll have you know," Cormac shot back, puffing his chest up, "that the Montrose Magpies Keeper once told me that I have potential." He enunciated the last word carefully, as if it was fragile. "That means that he thought I was _good_. The _Montrose Magpies_ Keeper."

"Congratulations, then," said the Granger girl with an edge to her voice. "Though I wonder if he would have said the same thing if he saw your poor sportsmanship."

He frowned at her. "I'm only saying that the team would be better if I were on it. I have valuable knowledge I could pass on to Harry. He's only a sixth-year and he's Captain, he needs some older guidance-"

"He needs a team that works with him!" The frazzled sixth year girl let out an agitated huff. "I don't know a lot about Quidditch, but I know enough. Harry needs a team that won't harp on his every move. He needs a team that won't try to dominate one another. He needs a team that will be supportive rather than cocky!"

"Potter's the one being cocky," Cormac spat. "He was clearly favoring his best friend over me. Weasley's own sister was the person throwing the Quaffle, too. It was completely unfair!"

Her cheeks flushed pink at this last statement and she hurried to say, "My point is, don't go around spreading awful rumors about Harry or Ron like I saw you doing earlier this morning."

He frowned again. He'd thought the corridor had been empty - most everyone had been in class. His eyes narrowed at the girl in front of him, but to his surprise, she had already turned around and started up the path to the castle.

"I'm not spreading rumors," he called after her. "I'm just informing people that I should have been picked because I'm better than he is."

"Rather arrogant, are we?" she stated without turning, but he didn't hear the sarcastic drawl in her voice, on the account that he had just come up with a brilliant idea.

Granger was one of Potter's best friends. He knew she was a know-it-all; perhaps she could talk some sense into Potter and let Cormac be on the team instead of Ron Weasley!

He flashed her back a charming smile, despite the fact that she was already a quarter of the way up the engraved staircase. "Oi! It would mean a lot if you could talk to Potter about his brash decision. I just can't bear the thought of not playing, because Quidditch's my passion."

If he had thought to listen to her instead of the echoes of his own voice, he would have heard her mutter, "Other than yourself, you mean?" before her raising her voice and declining his request.

"Fine," he said bitterly."Have it your way, then. I'll have it mine."

His. He never used to realize how many times he used to say that in a day. He never did until after that number had decreased quite significantly.

* * *

 _found_

* * *

"Oi, Granger."

She was walking down the corridor in front of him, her head bent over a large tome she held in her arms. Her wild curls shielded her face from view, and not for the first time, he wondered how she could _stand_ walking around with her hair looking like that. His hair was curly, but it was attractive. The only good thing that could be said about her hair was that it was voluminous.

He wouldn't have called out her name at all if it weren't for the fact that the second Gryffindor Quidditch team practice was beginning at this very minute, and he had just happened to see her send off the cheater and the biased captain towards the field. In fact, he almost regretted it when she stopped in her tracks and looked up from her book to see him beside her, for (though he hadn't known it at the time) the look in her eyes clearly conveyed that he was interrupting a very good part of her book.

"McLaggen," she nodded, but her eyes flicked downwards to the thin pages longingly.

"How's Quidditch turning out for Weasley?"

She resumed her walking while sneaking peaks into her book. "Which one?"

"The cheater," he said distastefully. "Though I suppose both him and his sister could constitute as cheaters…" Cormac trailed off as Granger suddenly stared up at him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips.

"Still not over that, I see," she said in clipped tones. "I would've thought otherwise, seeing as it's been two months."

He looked back at her evenly. "I'm a seventh-year. This was my last year to play. I should've been Keeper." Her eyes appeared to soften just the slightest bit, so for good measure, he added, "I could have passed on a lot of good knowledge from my own experience on a broom."

Funny. Her brown irises had hardened again.

She assumed a brisk pace that he easily matched with his long legs. "Perhaps the Montrose Magpies will recruit you," she said tonelessly. She had begun to read her book again, a sure sign of his dismissal that Cormac didn't yet understand.

"You remember that, then? I, of course, do. My father was quite proud when he overheard the Keeper, you know." His chest puffed out as he looked at Hermione with a newfound interest. For some unknown reason, not many remembered his magnificent stories. He thought it had something to do with the way people's eyes appeared to unfocus when talking to him.

She sucked in a breath and said bluntly, "McLaggen, you're not being very modest."

Her statement was not lost on him. His mouth parted slightly as he jerked away from her, affronted. Hermione must have noticed the silence because she quickly glanced up from her book to see his indignant expression. She bit her lip, looking slightly embarrassed at her sharp accusation, considering the fact that they had hardly ever had a conversation before. "Sorry. That was out of line."

He managed to nod once, still shocked at the bluntness of her statement.

She shifted her book uncomfortably before closing it and watching him carefully. Her brown eyes didn't waver from his, and he got the distinct feeling that he was being appraised (and not for his charming looks).

Hermione sighed again, averting her eyes. "My mouth runs away from me when I'm distracted." She waved the book in the air before pursing her lips. "It _would_ be nice, however, if you didn't keep boasting about yourself while calling Ron or Ginny a cheater. It's a bit arrogant."

Cormac was finally able to gain control of himself, and close his mouth. Half of him wanted to ask her what _exactly_ about him screamed immodesty and arrogance; the other half was still stung with shock at her remarks.

The way she insulted him wasn't quite like the way he'd been insulted before. Others had mimicked him or thrown his boasts back into his face, but Hermione had simply stated his supposed arrogance like it was a fact that she could find in the books she read.

"Well, see you around, McLaggen." She looked as if she wanted to say something else, but shook her head and walked away.

Cormac watched her for a moment before shrugging and turning in the opposite direction. But before he rounded the corner, he found himself glancing over his shoulder to get one more look at her bushy brown curls. Something about the sincerity of her eyes stuck with him.

* * *

 _Truth_

* * *

He sat beside her during the first Quidditch match of the year because both her friends were on the playing field and she had an empty seat beside her and he kind of wanted to ask her why she had an open book on her lap when the game was going to begin in less than ten minutes.

"Mind if I sit here?" he asked, already sitting down. He gestured towards her thick book. "What's that?"

Hermione blinked at his sudden appearance before saying warily, "A book."

"Why are you reading it now when the game's about to start?"

"Because I'm at a very good part."

"What's the book about?"

Her brown eyes that somehow radiated warmth even in the chilly October morning pierced into his. Instead of answering his question, she gently bookmarked the page she was on, closed the book, and watched him.

He shifted uncomfortably. "What, Granger?"

"I can't work out whether you're sitting here because you want a front row seat or because you want to discuss my book with me or because it's the perfect opportunity for you to make remarks on Ron's playing."

Cormac raised his eyebrow. "A combination of all three, though you missed the main reason."

He sort of liked how she just nodded and didn't ask what the last reason was. He wouldn't have been able to put the strange feeling into words anyway.

"Well," she said after a moment, "if you want to know what the book's about, you could read the back cover." She handed him the thick book like it was her lifeline and she was bequeathing it upon him.

Cormac hadn't touched a normal book (textbooks didn't count) since last year when he was studying for his N.E.W.T.s, and the sheer weight of Hermione's book almost made his wrist break. He quickly grabbed the falling book with his other hand, pleased when he caught it beautifully.

"Splendid catch," he thought to himself, but when Hermione made a tiny scoff in the back of her throat, he realized he had said the words aloud. Somehow, knowing this made him shift in his seat and press his lips shut.

He peered at the sixth year girl from the corner of his eyes. There was a slight frown on her face as she pretended not to be observing the condition of her beloved book, and when he finished skimming over the words on the back, she took the book from his proffered hands and hugged it to her chest.

"Do you like reading?" she asked curiously.

"I used to," Cormac replied truthfully. "Before I discovered my passion for Quidditch. I actually discovered my love for Quidditch when I was seven and I got my first prize when I was nine. I remember when my father got me a real broomstick, and I outplayed my older cousins as Chaser just like that once I was off my baby broom-"

He cut himself off, noting the way Hermione's eyes had unfocused midway into his story. It was obvious that she had become bored. The look on her face was so familiar that he wondered why he had never recognized it to be boredom on anyone else's face. He'd always thought that people were contemplating his stories but now it occurred to him that _this_ was the reason people never remembered his accomplishments - they had never listened in the first place.

"The game's about to start," Hermione said suddenly, sitting up straight. "Look, there's the team-"

She stood up and began to cheer as loudly as the people in their stand were cheering. Her book sat forgotten on the bench, as did Cormac, who was still processing his newfound revelation.

He felt a warm hand tug on his arm and looked up to see Hermione's bright face lit up in a large smile.

"Come on!" she shouted above the commentator, who was announcing the team members. "Stand up!"

He did, and spent the rest of the game next to her, cheering the Gryffindor team on.

(Neither noticed, but Cormac didn't insult the Weasleys or Potter once.)

* * *

 _in_

* * *

Hermione frowned as she picked at her breakfast behind the newest edition of the _Daily Prophet_. "Won-Won" and Lavender were nowhere to be seen at the table, and she could hear Parvati giggling over something about a broom closet.

She felt her toes curl in as she angrily speared an egg and forced it into her mouth. The newspaper crinkled where her fist curled around the paper. Hermione suddenly heard her name amidst the circle of girls further down the table, and that was the last straw.

She stood suddenly and announced to Harry, who was making conversation with Ginny, "I'm going to go to the library."

She slung her bag over her shoulder and left the breakfast table with one last scathing glare at Parvati's gossip session. The nerve of those girls! It wasn't any of their business to probe into her love life, least of all to bring it up while talking about _him_ and Lavender.

She fumed all the way to the library, where she promptly threw herself into her favorite chair and stared at the empty table before her. Hermione wondered where this jealous, touchy person inside her had come from - surely she was being overly emotional about him? Ron could date whomever he liked. It wasn't like he'd been in a relationship with her, or anything.

Hermione was doing a poor job of convincing herself of this when she heard the chair across from her scratch against the floor. She looked up and found herself staring into the hazel eyes of the seventh-year Cormac McLaggen.

"You look angry," he commented as he leaned back into the chair.

"Thank you for your observation," she snapped.

He frowned. "I suppose reading wouldn't help, would it?"

"I'm sorry to be rude, but I really just want some time alone before class starts. Could you-"

He shook his head. "No."

"Fine. I'll leave, then."

She angrily grabbed her bag and stalked out of the library, relieved that she didn't hear his footsteps following her. Except for that one Quidditch match a few weeks ago, all her encounters with McLaggen had painted a less than appealing portrait of his arrogance and conceit, like he couldn't get enough of himself.

"Oi, Hermione, slow it down a bit."

She cringed when she heard his voice, and made no indication that she heard him. Instead, she barrelled on through the empty corridor until she felt a hand on her shoulder.

His hazel eyes were _so_ like Ron's that she almost forgot to brush his hand away, but she did even as she stopped. "Stop following me," she said.

"Frankly, you look like you're about to murder someone, so for the safety of the schoo, I don't think I will until you calm down."

She was about to tell him that consoling Hermione Granger wasn't going to be another achievement to be added onto his list of stories any time soon when the door to her right suddenly opened to reveal a laughing Ron Weasley and a giggling Lavender Brown.

"Thought we heard voices out here," Ron said smoothly as he brushed past Hermione. His finger was confidently twirling a lock of Lavender's hair.

"Your hearing's really good, Ron," his girlfriend said sweetly, and as she passed, she smirked widely at Hermione. The two rounded the corner, leaving Hermione red-faced and even more agitated than she had been before.

"I can't believe," she muttered under her breath, finishing the unpleasant sentence in her head. Could he not see what this was doing to her?

Of course he could, she realized after taking a few deep breaths. Of course he knew he was making her jealous.

Jealous…

She fumbled through her bag for a moment and pulled out a gold invitation. She had received it from Professor Slughorn, inviting her to his exclusive Christmas party. He had requested that she bring a date…

Hermione looked up eagerly and found Cormac still watching her warily. He was the perfect fake date, she thought. Ron would be furious if she brought Cormac, whom he hated, to the party with her - the party that Ron wasn't invited to.

She stepped up to Cormac, who looked taken back with the sudden appearance of a bright smile on her face. "Cormac, I have a big favor to ask of you."

He tilted his head at her and nodded at her to go on. His eyes traveled to the invitation in her hand.

"I need a date to this Christmas party, and since I don't have anyone to go with yet, I was wondering if you'd like to come with me."

She had never been so brash about asking a boy out before; in fact, she had never asked a boy out at all. She wondered if she'd done something wrong, because Cormac had frozen up and was staring at her like she was from a different world.

"You don't have to," she said quickly, her voice faltering. "I just-"

"It has something to do with Weasley, doesn't it?" Cormac gave a small laugh as she blushed and ducked her head. "Don't worry. I'll go with you."

"You will?" Her head shot up. "Oh, thanks, Cormac!"

"Uh-huh. And when I do, not only Weasley'll be jealous."

Hermione laughed, giving him a quick hug in her gratitude. The fact that he'd just done something completely unselfish for her was not lost.

* * *

He was being selfish, and he knew it from the moment he opened his lips to accept her invitation. He was being selfish, because Cormac _wanted_ to go. He wanted to see the Weasley's jealous expression, he wanted to make the sixth year laugh again, but mostly, he wanted a reason to think about her.

Because goddamn, he was doing that enough to forget to think about himself.

* * *

 _Passion_

* * *

The look on Ron's face was worth it, worth every second of enduring his and Lavender's "secret" kissing sessions, worth every second of hearing Lavender say "Won-Won", worth _every second_.

Yet as Hermione listened to Cormac ramble on about some spectacular Quidditch save he'd made when he was thirteen, she wondered if bringing him had been a mistake.

The strange thing was, they'd spent the days preceding the Christmas party together in the library had been nice - perhaps more than nice. Cormac hadn't forced any of his extensive and repetitive stories upon her; in fact, he'd been content to listen to her talk about her favorite books while he made comments that were wittier than she expected he could make.

Now, Cormac appeared to have reverted into his original self who saw little interest in book talk and more interest in life talk. Specifically, _his_ life talk.

She pursed her lips and leaned against the wall drinking her punch as he began another story that sounded very similar to the previous, and the one before that, and the one before that, and the ninety-nine ones before that…

Hermione spotted Harry across the room. He was alone, and she seized upon that moment to give Cormac a quick excuse and rush towards her best friend.

She had only spoken with him for a couple of moments before she saw Cormac's head of curly blond hair wading through the crowd. Moaning now that she had a taste of freedom, Hermione slipped through the doors of the room and found herself in the silent corridor.

She was only alone for a few seconds; Cormac burst through the doors and saw her standing there. "Found you," he said. "Did you want some fresh air?"

"Um, yes-" Technically, she wasn't lying.

"Well, we can sit here a bit, then."

Together they leaned against the wall and sat on the ground. The opposite wall of the corridor had panes of glass that overlooked the grounds, and Hermione could see the Black Lake's water ripple under the moonlight.

"Beautiful night, isn't it?"

She turned her head curiously. Cormac's voice had changed from boisterous to something softer, something more like the boy she'd seen in the library with her the past few days.

"Yes."

"I used to go stargazing," he began, and despite the softness in his voice, she wondered if he was going to start yet another of his stories again. He continued, unaware of her internal sigh. "Behind our house, there's this field. My mum and I used to go there and look at the stars."

Before Hermione had time to process the sudden, stark change in his personality, Cormac pushed himself off the wall and turned to her. "Can I tell you something, Granger?"

She nodded.

"You look really pretty tonight."

Her lips parted as she stared at him, flustered yet strangely… _warm_ at the same time. It was the first compliment he'd given her, but what compelled her to place a hand on his in thanks was the sincerity in his eyes.

They held not a drop of arrogance within them.

* * *

What Hermione didn't know and what Cormac was well aware of was that he had been about to tell her something else entirely. He was going to tell her that the reason why he'd talked started rambling on about his accomplishments before was because she was making him nervous and he didn't know how else to keep the conversation going.

He was going to tell her that ever since that second confrontation he had with her, he'd noticed all the little arrogant things he did when he spoke. He was going to tell her that he was trying his best to fix them because the warmth in her eyes during the Quidditch game had made something rush through his bones and make his heart beat faster. He was going to tell her that never before had someone's opinion of him _mattered_ so much. He was going to tell her that she was driving him crazy.

Later, when they found themselves trapped under the mistletoe and he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, Cormac hoped she knew anyway. He hoped she could feel through the warmth in his fingertips touching her cheeks that he had long forgotten to be passionate about himself, because of _her_.

He hoped she could see that she was more than an accomplishment to him. That instead, she was a privilege who was steadily replacing everything he'd ever known about passion.


End file.
